“Hello, Maynard,” Thompson said as if he were addressing an emotional child. “My name’s Thompson. How is it in there? Crowded?”
“Actually, a bit roomier than you’d expect,” Maynard replied with a tone of humor.
“He says hello back,” Karl simply replied.
“Follow me,” Thompson said without any further warning.
Karl jolted alert when he saw his friend start to walk away. A few swift strides brought him to the man’s side, and they made their way from the market without drawing any attention.
So what do you think? Karl asked within his own mind.
“Think about what?” Maynard asked.
About Thompson.
“I dunno,” Maynard replied with an earnest air about him. “I sense no malice from him. And he seems to be able to piss you off a little, so I like him.”
Hmm.
“But be careful,” Maynard urged.
I might need your help with that, Karl conceded.
“I’ll be here.”
Thompson led him into an underground train, but Karl had been too distracted to note what line they were on or what route they expected to take. The two men slipped into a seat like the floor had been iced and they had no choice. There were only three other people in the car with them, and none seemed alert enough to register their presence.
“So, what have you been up to?” Karl asked, almost conversationally.
“Me?” Thompson said, looking around himself with a bit of paranoid caution. “I’ve been working on something big.”
“Oh?”
“Have you heard of Governor Gubbins or Representative Dahomey?”
Karl searched his memory banks and found the names rang a bell. Maynard inquired about them, but the psychologist ignored the I.I. and focused on his human friend.
“Only in passing,” Karl answered. “Some headlines and whatnot. Do you have something to do with all that?”
Thompson gave what some might call a sly sneer, though Karl found it phony in a way.
“Surely you’ve heard about all their supporters jumping ship?” he asked the psychologist.
“I’ve heard nothing of it.”
“Well, if you had, you might have been the only one smart enough to know that I was responsible,” Thompson said, a confident smirk stapled to the front of his jaw. “Maybe.”
“What did you do?”
“What do I do?” Thompson corrected him.
“What do you do?” Karl asked, his voice saturated with annoyance.
“I’m Robin Hood, baby,” Thompson said. There was something about his expression that told Karl his friend had been waiting quite some time to use that line.
“Care to elaborate?” Karl asked.
“I’ve developed an algorithm, you see,” Thompson started, still tossing glances over his shoulder to assure he was not listened to by strange ears. “I’ve been taking the money politicians like Gubbins gets from his greedy donors and I’m offloading it into environmental charities. Anonymously, of course.”
“You’re what?” Karl asked with concern.
Thompson slapped his thigh and shushed him in an urgent request to be quiet.
“You heard me,” his friend answered. “I take the money away whenever a special interest donates it. Then the politician never knows the donation was made and doesn’t pass whatever bill they paid him for. They, of course, rat on the politician for not playing ball. It’s great.”
“Are you telling me that you’re a fugitive?” Karl inquired.
“I’m telling you that I’m in the same boat you are,” Thompson replied. “People are looking for me, people are looking for you. Best call is to hide together, don’t you think?”
“What if they find you?” Karl asked.
“I wouldn’t be meeting you if I thought that possible,” Thompson said.
“Anything’s possible,” Karl commented.
“Not everything is likely, Karl,” Thompson insisted. “If you are to stay with me, you will need to understand that.”
“We need him,” Maynard stated without emotion in the psychologist’s head. “Don’t ruin this.”
“Okay,” Karl said after a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“No apologies needed,” his friend offered. He looked up at the display that showed the train’s route “This is our stop.”
The Calm
Images on Thompson’s old monitor display flashed before Karl’s eyes, but he paid no attention to them. His mind was swimming, and Maynard continued to paddle water in the opposite direction, leaving the psychologist disoriented and frustrated.
The I.I. was losing patience himself, and that only made their symbiotic relationship harder to maintain. Karl was still filled with the adrenaline from the escape. His mind seemed to seep in some hallucinogenic liquid, making it hard to discern real life from daydreams. It was like waking too quickly from a nightmare; the illusion of a dream still hung onto every nerve ending he had.
Every sound he heard, from the blaring noises of the commercials on the display to the incessant bickering from the I.I. seemed blurred out, like he was hearing it all underwater. When Thompson came up and offered him something, he couldn’t make out the words his friend used.
“Sorry?” Karl asked.
“You hungry?” Thompson repeated. “I imagine you haven’t eaten since—you know.”
Karl looked down at the small plate his friend offered. There were a pair of sunny-side up eggs with a sprinkling of pepper coating the yolks like a man’s five-o’clock shadow. A few sticks of bacon accompanied a large slice of toast, buttered to perfection.
“Thank you,” Karl said. He was taken aback by Thompson’s generosity. It was clear he’d made this dish himself rather than having it produced through a chefeasta. Karl wasn’t even sure he could cook eggs, since he’d relied on the automated food producer more than he ought to.
Without much hesitation, he dove into the food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until a meal was placed before him. His nerves had taxed a lot of energy from him. Thompson waited patiently for his friend to finish before engaging him with questions.
“What’s the next step from here?” the hacker asked.
Karl finished mopping up the last of the yellow yolk with his finger and brought it to his mouth. He savored the flavor before even thinking of an answer to his friend’s question.
“Maynard has some ideas. First off, we have to identify our traitor,” Karl responded, his mouth not entirely empty of debris.
“Traitor, you
